


Whispers in the Dark

by TinyTimcanpy



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, They're both nerds, i hate them, nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 10:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5245616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyTimcanpy/pseuds/TinyTimcanpy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who wakes the other up in the middle of the night with random questions, and who smacks the other with the pillow?</p><p>Written with my own Inquizzy in mind, though I tried to write this as ambiguously as possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispers in the Dark

                “Dorian…Dorian, wake up.” The aforementioned mage groaned, trying to roll away from the hand that was shaking his shoulder gently. “I need to ask you something.”

                “What could possibly be so urgent that it can’t wait until morning?” Dorian grumbled, reluctantly opening one eye. As much as he adored the kindred spirit he found in the insatiably curious elf beside him, he was less than thrilled at being awoken in the middle of the night by whatever question had Lavellan in its grip. His sleepy glare went unnoticed, however. Dorian could barely make out the Inquisitor’s form hovering over him in the dark.

                “I’m sorry,” Lavellan murmured, a touch guilty for disturbing his lover. “But it’s been nagging at me for weeks.” When he didn’t continue, hesitant, Dorian prompted him with a vaguely inquisitive noise. He knew from past experience that it was better to indulge the elf in order to return them both to their much needed rest.

                “The cows flying over Minrathous,” Lavellan let out in a rush. “You mentioned it before, remember? I have to know, why would cows be flying over Minrathous at all? If they didn’t have wings, how did they do it? Was it force magic? Some kind of enchantment?” Dorian groaned, turning away from the other man. He barely remembered the conversation being referred to, back when the Inquisition was newly formed; back when the two of them where little more than strangers to each other, exchanging gentle flirtations over ancient texts.

                Now they were apparently at the stage where they were comfortable enough to irritate each other with random questions. “Go back to sleep, Amatus,” Dorian grumbled. Truthfully, he can’t believe Lavellan even remembered the comment he’d made offhand, let alone had been dwelling on it for all this time. _This man will be the death of me,_ he mused with exasperated fondness. It’s not the first time the thought has occurred to him. _If I don’t kill him first._

                “I _can’t_ ,” Lavellan’s tone was plaintive now. “It’s keeping me awake.” He draped an arm over the other’s waist, pulling himself over to press up against Dorian’s back.

                “Well _you’re_ keeping _me_ awake,” the Tevinter mage countered. “These statuesque looks don’t maintain themselves, you know. I need my beauty sleep.”

                The elf behind him sighed, and after a prolonged silence Dorian assumed he had dropped the matter. Just as he was drifting off, however, Lavellan spoke up again. “Was it some kind of nullifying magic? If you could negate the forces keeping them on the ground somehow, that could do it.” He paused, “wouldn’t they be floating more than flying, though?”

                Dorian considered himself a reasonably patient man, but even he had his limits. Reaching out and grabbing one of the many decorative pillows strewn across the excessively opulent (and very comfortable) bed, he drew his arm backwards. The pillow hit Lavellan on the side of his head with a soft _whump_ sound, causing the elf to splutter indignantly. “Did you just hit me?”

                “I thought it might drive out those troublesome questions bouncing around in your skull,” Dorian groused. “Now go. To. Sleep.” He closed his eyes emphatically, determined to ignore any further questions from the other. Instead he was answered with a pillow to the face. “Kaffas!”

                “Don’t start something you can’t finish, _ma’Vhenan,_ ” Lavellan said smugly. His smirk was short-lived, however, replaced by startled laughter when Dorian abruptly rolled over and dug teasing fingers into the elf’s sides, tickling. “Hey!”

                “Oh, I do intend to finish this,” Dorian replied, holding back his own laughter. He let up when the other’s chuckling turned silent and breathless, propping himself up over the Inquisitor with an elbow on either side. “I will accept only your unconditional surrender.”

                “I am at your mercy, my Lord Pavus,” Lavellan murmured dryly, snaking his hand up to the back of Dorian’s head and pulling him into a slow kiss.

                “This doesn’t feel like surrender,” Dorian admonished playfully, voiced raised just above a whisper, his lips only inches from the elf’s own. His words drew a quiet laugh from Lavellan, who let his arms fall back to the pillows on either side of his head.

                “Very well. What would you have me do, then?” The Inquisitor’s voice was pitched low, his face lit with a wide, fond smile that crinkled his eyes in the corners. “Anything you ask.”

                Dorian hummed thoughtfully, even as his own hand moved upwards to tangle in soft hair. “Well, seeing as we’re both wide awake now,” he tugged lightly in silent reproach, savoring the small gasp that escaped the other. “I might have a few ideas.” His hips started up a slow rocking rhythm against the other’s, producing a delightful friction and indicating the sorts of ideas he had in mind.

                “Do you now?” Lavellan shifted slightly, aligning his lower body to better facilitate Dorian’s movements. “By all means, do share.”

                “Indeed,” Dorian moved to press lips against the side of Lavellan’s throat, nipping playfully. “I intend on driving out those bothersome thoughts of yours, and any others as well.” It was still early enough that they might be able to fit in a few more hours of sleep before dawn as well, though Dorian doubted it. The alternative was looking to be more promising, anyhow.

                “Hnnn,” Lavellan arched at a particularly slow drag of hips. “Promises, promises.” When Dorian bit down on the junction of his neck and shoulder in response, the elf found his curiosity greatly diminished in the face of the warmth making its way up to his cheekbones and down into his belly. His most important goal was accomplished either way; get Dorian’s attention. He smiled in private amusement, before any further thought was chased out by the sensations of the human’s skin against his own.

                He was thankful that his advisors didn’t comment when he overslept the next morning and wound up late to the war table meeting, though he suspected it was because they already knew the reason.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! I hope the flow was okay. It's been a long time since I wrote anything. I'm testing the waters with this in the hopes that I'll get around to putting out a more extensive work featuring my inquisitor. Also, did anyone else really want to know what kind of shit goes down in Tevinter that flying cows would be a thing that happens? No? Just Me?
> 
> Feedback is appreciated!


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